


Promise

by CelestePhantasm



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: F/M, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Attempted Suicide, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5882314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestePhantasm/pseuds/CelestePhantasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt can't sleep. Instead, he slips out of the Homestead and decides to take a walk—maybe he can find exhaustion.</p>
<p>Instead, he finds a fellow Glader in trouble. Of course, he's happy to help.</p>
<p>Perhaps sleeplessness isn't so bad, tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise

**Author's Note:**

> **_DISCLAIMER:_** I do **NOT** own "The Maze Runner," any of its sequels, characters, ideas, etc. I own literally nothing, I make absolutely no profit from writing this. I write for fun.
> 
> I've been posting on Tumblr a lot, because...well, honestly, I kind of forgot that this place existed because I've only posted one thing here and whooooops. I'm sorry.
> 
> But, um, I guess that means I'm going to be posting a plethora of one-shots in the near future...?
> 
> Um, anyway, this story is the only one (at least for now) that I'll be posting that wasn't prompted by a request on Tumblr.
> 
> It contains the reason for Newt's limp, so...if you haven't read "The Death Cure," you might want to turn away now.
> 
> That said, enjoy!

Newt could hear quiet whimpering nearby. He was sleepless and, despite the likelihood of disturbing the other boys, he'd crept in to the open of the Glade and had begun walking, wandering where he could without risking awaking his fellows. But now he wondered if they were alright; he could hear gasping and rapid breathing, and then whimpers, with one or two swear words thrown in, but his mind couldn't name the voice in the quiet.

He crept closer, following the noises, and he found himself in the showers. Though they were used regularly, he couldn't imagine anyone being up this late using them...unless something was wrong.

He knocked twice; it was barely a tap with his knuckles. Maybe someone was asleep and having nightmares? He heard a gasp, however, and a shaky question of who was there. He paused. “It's Newt. Everything okay?”

There was a quiet sniffle, and then a hiss, “Newt?” The voice had raised in pitch by half an octave. “What...what're you doing here?”

His brain caught the difference in a breath and he was torn between barging in and instinct telling him to show some respect. “Heard you whimpering. You okay, Evan?”

The words were cautious, and there was a long pause. Finally, he heard a quiet sob, “N-No. Come in.”

Newt pushed the door open with his thumb, and when he found it unblocked, he swung it open in full, and then shut it behind him. There wasn't a lock, but Newt leaned against the door firmly. Inside, the light was dim; flickering candles and shadows cast by night, patches of light from the sky coloring the room discordantly, but the most worrying thing was the person within. Wild-eyed and frightened looking, Newt saw the question there. “It's safe. Only me up.”

The figure stumbled toward him, one hand tucked beneath a device bound tightly around their chest. “I...I can't get it off,” they gasped. “I...can't breathe.”

Newt's eyes flickered, and he moved in a moment, grasping tightly at tense shoulders, “Panic, or the binder?”

“B-binder.”

He bit out a flourish of curses that Alby would've banished him for, and he dug in his pocket. His hand came out with a small pocket knife. “Do you trust me?” He paused. “Do _you_ trust me, (Name)? Not Evan. (Name).”

“I trust you,” came the responding gasp, sweat beading on their skin—Newt could see and feel it.

Newt didn't hesitate. He slid one finger beneath the binder, until he found what he needed; the tiny split in flesh that would be safe for him to cut, and he slid the pocket knife, carefully, beneath that slot, cutting it gently, at first, and then, when (Name) had a chance for a ragged, but deep breath, he met their eyes once more. “Stay bloody still. Hold your breath for me.”

A nod gave him permission, and the knife ascended, cutting through the material and, at last, it split open in full.

The figure—now appearing to be a woman—collapsed in a heap on the floor of the showers, gasping raggedly, swooning, and Newt tossed the knife toward the door, then caught her. “(Name), come on, come on, slow it down, breathe with me,” he urged, shaking her once, and once only. He forced her to follow his breathing, keeping her conscious, and made her take breaths even when she hissed that her throat was too dry. “Come on, girl. You're tougher than the lot of us. Take it easy,” he pressed, grasping at her shoulders.

She collapsed and folded in to him, her entire body shaking, but having her head pressed in his neck had an advantage; she could follow his breaths easier. It took a while, but finally, she began to calm down, her trembling slowing. “Bit less than I'd like to say, but thanks,” she mumbled, her voice smoother and higher than before.

She felt his hand touch her head; her close-cut hair didn't allow him much to hold on to, but his fingers still nestled in the thick strands. “What the bloody shuckin' hell happened?”

She shivered, shaking her head. “I...I thought I was just swelling because of my period...or something,” she mumbled, and he could hear her embarrassment. “It's been tighter lately, but I didn't think anything of it, but I...”

Newt paused, and it took a moment, before it clicked. He paused. “How long has it been tight?”

She hesitated, and he knew it, even though she hadn't pulled away from him. “Past six months.” He could hear the fluster and shame in her tone, and he felt her tension as he put an arm around her carefully. “I didn't...I didn't want it to be real,” she murmured. “I've managed to fool everyone who doesn't already know, but having my chest get so much bigger...I don't know what to do,” she breathed.

He paused. “Alby can ask for bigger binders,” he offered, but there was some reluctance in the tone.

“...You don't want me to wear them, do you?”

He paused again, this time a lot longer. “Will you let me look at you? I want to show you why,” he said, slowly.

He felt the heat reach her cheeks, but she didn't reject him. At last, slowly, she drew away from him, and he saw what he feared; red, angry, sunk-in spots of flesh where the binder had dug in to her skin, the largest part of her chest red, as though from the restriction. He reached for one of her hands, taking her fingers, and he traced them along the raw-looking spots where the binder had nearly cut off her oxygen. He watched her face crinkle as she felt the now-sore spots, and then her lips fell. “...It's worse than I think it is, isn't it?”

He nodded. “You're red, love,” he murmured, and he paused. She saw the thought in his eyes and felt him shift, his eyes darting across the angry, crimson spots on her skin, back up to her eyes. “What would you have done if I hadn't happened on you?”

Her eyes darted away. “I don't...know.” The confession was reluctant. “I mean, after...after what happened at first, I don't...”

He saw her pause, and his face fell, and he shook his head. After a long moment, he reached down; he'd pulled his white pullover on due to the cool of the night, and he pulled it over his head. He drew it over her gently, and she flailed a little to get her arms through it. At last, he carefully pushed the hood back, and he bent his head, meeting her eyes. “Do you think you can stand?”

She tried, but she was wobbly, and Newt stood, letting her lean on him. “I'm taking you to the Med-jacks,” he mumbled, worry and fear in his tone.

“No, no...not tonight. I wanna sleep,” she mumbled, burying her face in his shoulder. “Please, Newt? Don't make me see them tonight.”

He felt her pressing closer to him, and he sighed quietly. She was probably exhausted beyond reason. He was certain she'd nearly died, and he found his arms curling down around her waist, pulling her in to him, and he held on to her for a minute. “...Okay, but only if you buggin' go tomorrow. You gotta swear.”

For a moment, he thought she fell asleep on him; her breathing was smoothing out again, and she was nuzzled in to his collar, leaning a lot of her weight on him. “...Okay.”

He let out a little sigh, and after a moment, he guided her to the door; he made her stay there for a moment as he picked up his pocket knife, and the now-useless binder, not wanting her to worry about it if she got to thinking too much. At last, he went back to her, and he curled his arm around her waist gently. “Okay. Come on, love. Think you can walk with me?”

She nodded, and though his limp was worse at the slow pace, he walked her around to the front of the Homestead. She let him lead her, but as he began to pull her upstairs, she faltered, “Where're we going?”

“My room. I'm not letting you sleep in yours.”

She looked at him in the dark, her eyes searching his face. “...Okay.”

He knew she was wondering, and confused, and probably tired, but he appreciated that she hadn't protested. The stairs creaked quietly beneath their steps, and they ascended carefully, but nearing the top, her breathing was hard again, and he drew her in to him once more, curling his arms around her form and drawing her against his chest. She nearly crumbled in to him, and he stroked her back gently, careful not to put too much pressure—he was sure the binder had chewed in to her back, too. He paused, and then dipped his head. “Do you trust me?”

“Mm,” she hummed, “didn't I already answer that?” She paused, and he felt her nuzzle in to him sleepily. The more time passed, the more he worried. He wondered how much damage had truly been done. “I trust you more than anybody else. More than Alby,” she mumbled softly.

He didn't know what to say to that last part, so, instead, he told her to wrap her arms around his neck, and she obeyed sluggishly. He pulled one arm around her shoulders, and the other slid down; he took a deep breath, and then, he dipped quickly, sweeping his arm beneath her knees and pulling her in to his arms, and she squealed quietly, her arms gripping him fiercely.

But she was lighter than he feared she'd be, and he gathered her in his arms as gently as he could, shushing her quietly when she began to worry about him. He limped to his own door, and he nudged it open with his foot; he'd left it ajar when he went for his walk. He closed the door with his heel, and then, carefully, he put her down on his bed, but he didn't let her lean back yet. He crouched before her, meeting her eyes, “I'm going to get you a glass of water. I don't want you to sleep yet. I need you to stay awake until I'm sure I don't need to call someone in here.”

Though she looked sleepy, even exhausted, with her eyes half-lidded, he watched her eyebrows furrow, and she leaned toward him. “...I really scared you, didn't I?”

For a moment, the mask of calm he always kept so neatly fell; she caught it, but she wondered at it. How often did Newt let his calm slip away? She reached for him, grasping his hand gently, “I won't go anywhere, Newt. I'm okay,” she said.

He hesitated, but he nodded, and he didn't speak. He disappeared, and she fought to stay awake, knowing he must have been terrified, to treat her this way. He always treated her like the other boys, if, perhaps, a little more knowingly. She'd come up early in the Glade, and the rule had been set then; no flirting, no relationships, and especially no sex. They all agreed—her getting pregnant was the last thing anyone needed, particularly a child—no baby should endure what they endured, they agreed.

Newt had still been relatively new, but he'd always been a favorite member of the Glade, right from the start. He'd moved up the ranks fast, and he'd been the one to calm her down. He seemed capable of keeping his head on straight for anything, and he'd been her first friend. He'd been the first one to reinforce the rules when someone had been a bit too forward with her.

And he'd been the first one to protect her when a Greenie had come up and hadn't liked the rules about her. He'd been all hands and had tried to gain her attention. He only scared her, and Newt had stepped in boldly, using his arm to hold the Greenie off her.

He'd learned, and agreed, after a while, but too many Greenies had done similar.

“(Name)?” Newt's voice interrupted her thoughts, and her eyes snapped up to him; she found him holding a glass of water, and some of the Med-jack supplies.

“I was just...thinking,” she mumbled, and she gratefully took the water, taking a few sips right away. Her throat was dry and hurting from her harsh breathing, and he let her drink a quarter of the glass before he sat beside her. She hesitated. “You were the first one to support me wearing that thing. Do you remember?”

He paused, and she could feel the tension. She watched him as he fiddled with the supplies, sorting through them until he found what he wanted; two little pills for pain. “I wish I'd known you'd grow out of it,” he murmured, but the words weren't joking. They were nearly sour.

“It's not like I wanted to,” she said, and there was a little bite in it. “I didn't ask for any of this, Newt, any more than any of you did,” she said, her voice softer when he looked at her, wide-eyed. “I especially didn't ask to be sent to a place full of hormonal teenage boys.” She paused, and Newt's eyes jumped back up to hers. “Rich scared me so much...I just...” He sat up, having been bent over the box he'd brought. “I couldn't bear one more Greenie coming up and treating me like I was supposed to be his...his comfort, for being thrown in this place,” she spat, shivering. “And if you hadn't...”

“(Name),” he murmured, and he shook her again, gently, forcing her to look at him. She was wild-eyed again. “Nobody was as bad as him. They all learned—”

“Not fast enough!” She shivered. “Every boy that came in the Box look at me like I was an object. And only when you and Minho and Alby and others repeated the rules, told them again and again, held them off me...and Rich, he—”

“Don't say—”

“He would've!” She interrupted him, just as he had her. “He would've raped me, Newt, and you and I both know it!” She shook, she shook until the bed shook with her, and she gasped raggedly, clutching herself. “He'd already ripped my shirt to shreds and I was fighting but he was still trying!” She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. She looked scared, and almost broken. “I broke his nose and even knocked out one of his teeth, but he didn't stop until you ripped him off me and threw him in to the wall. He didn't stop until you made him, Newt, and I was so scared...I was so scared, I couldn't bear it anymore.” She rubbed her eyes, crying quietly for a moment. “Those boys wouldn't listen to me because I was the only girl. They wouldn't listen even when I was fierce and firm and told them no a hundred times, they persisted even when I pushed them away. They wouldn't listen to a girl and that's why I wanted that. I wanted to be treated like a human, Newt!”

Newt let her cry, let her catch her breath. He didn't speak, and the silence was deafening. He let her sit there and hiccup, until, finally, she spoke again. “I don't want to be a girl, Newt. I bleed every month and have to pretend I don't. I have to be strong when I'm not built like you guys. And I don't get treated like a person...not when someone knows. I mean, the first few Gladers are the exception. You and Minho and Alby...you all treat me right, but sometimes...sometimes, I'm scared you won't,” she hiccuped. “I'm scared you won't if I'm not wearing that and acting like one of you. But I'm not.” She sniffled some, and she was curling up on herself, and Newt finally moved.

He finally reacted, and he moved the box he'd brought; he put it on the floor carefully, but he kept the two little pills out. “You need to take these,” he said, slowly. “And then you and I are going to talk. Properly talk,” he said, and she looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed from tears and scared-looking. “I want you to listen to me. Not because I'm second-in-command, either.” He took her hand, gently, pulling her arms carefully, loosening her, and he saw the pain blossom over her features; he watched her face scrunch and contort, heard her gasp. The pain was setting in. “I want you to listen because I'm your bloody friend. Okay?”

She sniffled again, but nodded, and he handed her the two little pills, and she picked the water off the table beside his bed, taking them in one gulp. She'd had to take them before, and she knew she'd get sleepy, but she knew Newt was doing this because he cared. She couldn't deny the pain spreading through her torso, either; it felt like her organs had been crushed, and she'd been denying it for too long, that her body was still growing, and as embarrassing as it was, she couldn't deny that she was relieved that Newt had found her. She could feel the pain growing, and she began to wonder if, indeed, she might have suffocated. Now that the compression was released, she wondered why it hadn't been worse before today; it had been tight, but perhaps it was just prolonged use that had finally done her in. But it hurt; her ribs ached and her shoulders felt bruised and burned, and her breasts felt sore.

But not wearing it seemed impossible. It was true, what she told Newt; she was scared. She'd never been treated properly by the Greenies. She'd never been treated properly until the other boys reinforced what she said, like she hadn't said anything at all. And after what had happened...after nearly being raped, she was so scared, she couldn't bear being a girl. It felt like being a mouse in a room filled with cats.

Cats played with their food.

And she might as well have been food, for all they cared about what she said or did.

Not all were bad. Some were awkward, but too many tried to get too close, and she had hit her limit with Rich. She couldn't bear being a girl anymore, she had to find a way to pretend to be a guy, and Alby had put in the request.

It took time, and effort, but to the surprise of everyone—and the relief of many—the Creators had agreed to the request. They'd sent up binders, and she had pressed herself in to them, and Newt had generously chopped every inch of her hair off. He'd taken a long time to get it cropped short and cut as some of the other boys had, and they had all helped her act more boy-like. She'd slowly learned to lower her voice automatically, she'd learned to function in her binder, she'd learned to walk and act and even talk like the other boys.

The Greenie that came up after Rich had been her test, and she passed.

No one since had known the truth, except the boys that had sworn secrecy about her...situation. She picked a name and they called her by it. She'd worked as hard as the boys and toughed things out better than most of them; she was discreet about everything feminine and she kept her hair cropped short and had learned all too well how horrible it was to be a girl in a realm of boys.

The Greenies treated her with respect and even some reverence; she was a hard worker and as tough as any of the boys, more often than not. Sometimes, she was tougher, even, and she had earned her place in the Glade. Often, she wondered if the boys even remembered that she was a girl.

But Newt...Newt always treated her a little better than everybody else had. He'd respected her from the start, had taken care of her when she was terrified of the boys. He'd looked after her like a brother.

Of course, that had meant a lot more to her than she could ever communicate, but she'd admired him. Even now, when she spent all her time pretending to be a boy, when she wished she was one, she feared she had true feelings for him; not respect or admiration, but true fondness and want of him as more than a friend or brother.

She was certain she did. She'd realized after he...well, after he got his limp.

But surely, even to him, she was practically a boy herself. Surely, he didn't think of her that way.

He couldn't.

So she waited, knowing that he was giving the pain medicine some time; he'd always been able to read people very well, and he must have known how much pain she was in. At last, he reached for her, and he touched the fabric he'd so carefully covered her with. “Let me look. I'm bloody terrified you're gonna bruise.”

She nodded, and he lifted, slowly, the fabric, and she winced. Her skin was sensitive and she had to admit that breathing hurt. He swore quietly, and she looked at him, to see his face pinched. “You're bruising. A lot,” he said, and he pulled at the shirt until she managed, at last, to lift her arms. That hurt, too. “Love, I think you broke a rib,” he murmured, and she felt his hand curl around her side; it wasn't as high as the binder hit her, but it was at the edge of her ribs, and his head had dropped, tilting as he looked at her.

“That would explain the fact that breathing hurts,” she finally admitted.

His eyes darted to her, and darkened. “I'm not letting you put another one of those on, not even after you heal,” he said, fiercely.

Her eyes dropped, and she had to keep herself from trembling. She'd said what she wanted to say about that. “You said you wanted to talk.”

He shifted, and she felt the bed move with his weight. He bent back over to the kit, and he dug through it, finding a small pouch. He cracked it as hard as he could, and it grew nearly too cold to keep in his hand; he bundled it in a small sleeve, and he turned to her. “On your side. You need ice.”

She obeyed him, and he climbed off the bed, helping her pull her knees on to the bed, and he crouched in front of her. “I'm going to have to touch it to find out where you broke it. And I'm bringing the Med-jacks in first thing,” he said. She stiffened, but he put his hand, carefully, on her side. “I'm going to stay with you, love.” She finally nodded, and he carefully put his fingers against her ribs, and she hissed, gritting her teeth. “This is going to hurt. I'm sorry,” he apologized, and he slid his hand along her ribs where they were turning red and purple. He was as gentle as he could be, but he could still see the tears streaming down her face, but, finally, his fingers found the rib in question, and he pressed the pack to it fiercely.

She squealed, and then shouted a curse, pushing at his arm, but he didn't let her push him off. “Newt, Newt, too much, I can't,” she gasped.

“It'll go numb in a minute. You need this. And then we're talking,” he said, and despite her now constant tears and quiet sobs, he pressed the ice against her ribs until her whimpering eased. He released the pressure, leaving the ice on her skin, but his hand moved up, stroking her hair. “I'm sorry, (Name),” he murmured, wiping his thumbs over her tears carefully. “You can punch me after you heal, if you like,” he said, attempting to tease, but his face was laden with sorrow.

The medicine was beginning to kick in, but the pain was keeping her awake, despite the ice on her side. “Don't think I could,” she mumbled. “I like your face a bit too much. One of the prettier ones,” she teased.

He finally smiled, but he continued to stroke her hair, his fingers threading through the top; it was longer than the back and the sides, which were cropped close to her head. “No more binders,” he said, slowly, and when she looked away, he pulled at her hair very gently; just a little tug, enough to gain her attention. “And nobody is going to treat you like that. Nobody.” Her eyes wandered back to him, and he saw them shining with tears again. “You shouldn't feel that way. They shouldn't act that way, and not one of those boys is going to treat you as less than you are. Tougher than the lot of us,” he said, and the smile was made with effort. “Better than the lot of us, too. I'm going to get Alby and the Med-jacks at first light. New rules, and you're not going to be disregarded anymore.”

She shifted a little, curling up, but the ice didn't move, thankfully. “There were rules before, Newt. Nobody listened until you enforced them. Didn't listen to me.” She paused, and he heard her take a deep breath, wincing with it. “And if you make the rule, it's not me being strong. They're still listening because it's you. Not because of me.”

He smiled at her now, still stroking her hair gently. “That's why you're gonna make the rules.”

Her face contorted with confusion. “I'm...gonna make them?”

“Well, Alby and I will be in here to discuss, but...you're no less important than anyone else.” He paused, and then he sighed, his fingers clutching her hair gently. “I think you're more important than most of these shuckfaces, actually.”

She blushed. She was lying half-naked on his bed, bruises spreading out across her ribs, it hurt to breathe, and she was nearly drunk on pain medication...but the thing that made her blush was Newt saying she was important. She hesitated, but shifted her arm, careful not to knock the ice from her skin; it was so cold it hurt, even without the pressure on it, but she wasn't sure what was worse—the pain of the cold, or the pain of the probably-broken rib. She curled her fingers around his wrist. “Come on, Newt. I'm not even a Keeper. I'm just...here. Like everybody else.” She paused, and she sighed. “And now I'm useless for the next few weeks, unless this is just a bruise.”

For a long moment, he sat there, his thumb brushing at the short strands of her hair. He liked the way it feathered and bounced around his fingers, how soft it felt under his touch. It was just like her. She may have pretended to be a boy, but he had never forgotten that she was a woman underneath that binder; she was kind and sweet and her brain wrapped around things differently than anyone else. Though she learned to walk and even move like them, he'd seen her slip once or twice; a gentle sway in her hips, or her delicate movements when she had to be careful. He hadn't known the depths of how difficult she found it here. He hadn't known how scared she was.

She was strong. Stronger than he'd ever been. She was gentle and caring, soft, but she bounced back like she was made of strong rubber; all those times she'd been faced with too much attention, she'd come back with a smile. Even after Rich, though she'd been terrified and begged them to let her wear the binder, had talked them in to it, she had gone back to work as she must.

Rich had been Banished. She'd been torn between fear and regret, between telling them he shouldn't be, and the very valid fear she felt for herself. Newt had never held one ounce of remorse for throwing him to the Grievers. He'd gladly do it again if someone went after her again.

But she hadn't slept at all that night. She stayed up and listened to his screams in the Maze, and the next day, she had picked up and worked like her life depended on it.

She suffered no punishment for fighting back, though she said she would take it. No one had even thought to punish her. He knew they all quietly agreed that what she had endured was more than a punishment.

But Newt didn't know how much it had affected her. Until now, Newt never knew.

She was tough. Stronger than any of them.

He was awed by her. When he'd felt helpless and hopeless...

“Do you remember when I jumped?”

Her entire body stiffened like she'd turned to stone. She didn't reply, but he knew what she was saying with that reaction.

“I jumped because I hated this place. Because I was scared...and I felt alone, and like...like there wasn't an end. Every day was the same,” he said, and she heard the emotion welling up in his words. “Same walls, same dead ends, the same empty hope that we'd figure it out.” Her hand was gripping his wrist so hard he wondered if she knew how strong she was. “Felt like there was a hole in me. And whatever I tried to fill it with didn't work, and hope ran out and I just...I lost it, I couldn't stand it, I couldn't stand knowing the truth anymore,” he said. “I tried the easy way out.”

“Newt—”

“No. Let me finish,” he said, firmly. “All I got out of that was this bloody limp. Sometimes I wake up and it feels like it's still broken,” he said, and reflexively, he reached down, rubbing his leg. His eyes had gone distant, and she waited for him. He had to have a point to this. Newt never talked about it. Nobody did. “But I remember when I first woke up.”

He paused, his eyes focusing again, looking at her. “You were there. No binder, you smelled like klunk, and your shirt was covered in blood,” he muttered. “Curled up between the bed and the table by it...you looked about half the size you were,” he continued, looking at her still, his eyes narrowed and intense. “Looked like you hadn't showered in three days and I don't think you'd been asleep long...but you heard me.”

She felt the tears she was trying to hold back spring free. “You were crying. Of course I heard you, Newt,” she breathed, holding on to him with a ferocity that scared him. “I was scared you were gonna try to get up...hurt yourself trying to move,” she murmured.

He watched her for a little while. “I was out for days, and you didn't leave me. Minho told me, after Alby dragged you to the showers and locked you in.”

She shrank in to herself. “I couldn't. I couldn't leave you, Newt,” she mumbled, not meeting his eyes. “When...when Alby carried you in, when he walked through the doors...I thought you were dead. But he said you weren't, and I thought...I was so scared you were gonna leave me,” she said, and her grip tightened again. “And you woke up crying.” She rubbed her face with her free hand, swiping at the tears. “And then...then, when we finally got you talking, and you said...” her hand dropped his wrist, leaving it aching, and she reached for him, her hand cupping his jaw. “I'd rather have heard I had to fight all the Grievers at once and deal with Rich every day than to hear you...and you barely even spoke after...” She shuddered, and she couldn't stop the tears rolling down her face. “You must have felt...so alone, and...and I couldn't leave you alone, Newt. I couldn't let you think you were alone,” she said, finally.

Newt watched her for a long time. He didn't speak, but he leaned in to her hand; her thumb was feathering over his cheek, sweeping back and forth across his skin, and he would gladly let her do that all night, if she would. “But that's how you've felt, isn't it? Like a bloody outcast,” he said, and there was a surprising anger in his tone. “Like you couldn't be you, but you couldn't say what you were feeling.” His eyes narrowed. “Shuck, you must feel like you're more trapped than the rest of us...like you're alone,” he said, but the words were nearly too quiet to catch. “And you're a Runner, too. You're a Runner and you see those endless gray walls and you know the truth...” And then, suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed and he stared at her. “Are you afraid of me?”

She nearly sat up, but the pain that splintered through her left her gagging, curling up fiercely, nearly screaming. Newt pressed the ice back against her rib firmly, but he rubbed her shoulder with his other hand, waiting until she managed to catch her breath. “I'm getting the Med-jacks. Now.”

“No!” She grabbed both of his hands with a strength he didn't know she had. “No. You sit your ass right there and I'm going to tell you something,” she growled through her gasps.

He debated, but the grip she had on him was nearly bruising; she had so much more strength than he imagined. He could get away, if he wanted...but he saw the fear and panic in her eyes. He also saw her determination, as fierce as he had ever seen, so he obeyed her, sitting on the floor, and he put his chin on the edge of the bed. She let go of him, after he had taken his seat, and she laid there, gasping for a moment, her hand on her ribs. The bruise was spectacular now, spreading over most of her side and down her belly, and even the side she hadn't broken the rib on was changing color. That binder would have killed her.

But he waited.

“If there's one person in this place that I don't fear, it's you,” she said, slowly. “You asked...what I would have done, if you hadn't found me?” He nodded, his hand going back to her hair. It was damp now, sticking to her skin, and fear was coming up to his chest. She'd really gotten hurt. “When...when I couldn't get it off, I stayed in the showers. I kept trying. I started to panic, but then, then, I thought...I thought, if I panic, I make it worse, so I was calming down when you found me,” she said, reluctantly. “I was going...I was going to try to come find you,” she muttered. “I was...I was afraid to go to anyone else, but I was going to try to get to you. I knew you'd help me,” she said, slowly, and though he was stroking her hair, she shifted closer to him. “But when you asked...after you cut it off me, I thought...I...I don't think I would've made the stairs,” she admitted.

He moved. He couldn't help it. He moved, lifting to his knees, and he put his arm over her hip, pulling her toward him; she had curled up in her pain, and she was nearly a ball now. His other hand kept stroking her hair, and he shook his head. “(Name),” he breathed, pulling her against his torso; the angle was all wrong, but he wanted to keep her close. He knew he couldn't shift her much. She was really hurt, and he was getting the Med-jacks once this was done. “No more binders. No more bloody shucking binders, never again, or I'll strip you and buggin' take it off myself,” he said, his words more and more fierce with each one. “And no more hiding. You're stronger than any of us. Tougher than the lot of us put together, and I'm not letting anyone tell you any different. You're gonna be you. Not Evan.”

She let out a quiet whine, but she curled toward him, pressing her face in to his chest. But before she could say anything, he continued, but his voice was quiet again, and he curled one arm around her shoulders, the other stroking her hair. “I've never met anybody like you. Memories or no, I know I haven't,” he murmured, his accent a little thicker, the words slower and softer. “And I've taken a lot of bloody klunk here. I do a lot for this place...but I'm selfish, (Name),” he said, slowly, and she heard the crack in his voice. “Because I'm not gonna live here without you. I don't want Evan. I want you here.”

She stiffened again, but after a moment, she shifted away from him, just a little, to look at him. “Newt?”

He paused, and he dropped down again, until his chin could sit on the edge of the bed, near her face. “...Pretty buggin' sure I love you, (Name),” he said, slowly and reluctantly. “And even if I'm wrong, I know I need you here...whatever this is,” he breathed.

For a moment, just a second or two, the pain spreading through every inch of her body ceased...or, it felt like it. She shifted again, but it was to look at him better, despite the pain rippling through her side. “...How do you know you love me when all I've been is Evan?”

He smiled at her, stroking her hair again, but he put a hand on her hip—she was moving too much. “Why do you think I was the one suggesting we Banish Rich?”

“...He broke a rule,” she said, slowly.

“I was going to walk him to the Cliff myself and throw him off it if they didn't agree to a Banishment,” he said, anger on his face. “He hurt you. I didn't give a shuck about the rules. It was you.”

She blushed, but looked away from him for a moment. “Well, we're both gonna have to find out who I am, if I'm not Evan,” she said, slowly, but she was smiling at him, now. “But...whoever I am, I know I love you,” she said softly.

A smile spread over his face, but a moment later, it was gone. “I'm getting the Med-jacks, (Name). The pain medicine should've put you under now, even with us talking,” he murmured. He rubbed her shoulder gently. “So...if you love me, let me get you some help,” he insisted. “Not sure I can take much more of this worrying thing.”

His attempt at humor fell flat, because she could hear the genuine fear in his tone. She hesitated. “Can I kiss you first? As a promise?”

He looked confused, and he shifted, his hand slipping to her forehead. It was warm, but not too hot—not enough to add to his list of worries. “What do you mean?”

“A promise not to wear binders...and to be me, whoever that is...as long as you promise you'll stay with me. No more wall climbing,” she said, not an ounce of teasing in her voice. There was fear there. Fear, and worry, and a wealth of other notes that he felt pull at his heart.

He hesitated. He'd never quite gotten over that. He found reasons to keep going. He thought about what he had to do the next day, or about how he made a promise to this person...or about (Name). But, though he could put something in that gap in his chest, nothing fixed it; it just temporarily filled it, until he had to find something else. That feeling was always there. Making that promise was hard. Too often he though of how he should've done it. How he should've gone higher. Or maybe he should've gone to the Cliff.

There was still an emptiness there. Still a feeling that there wasn't hope. And some of his worst days, a feeling that he wasn't needed.

But (Name) was curled up, in pain and asking him to promise him something that, while difficult, he had managed so far since. And she knew how it felt. She knew that emptiness herself.

“...I'll promise...if you promise you won't leave me, either,” he said, deciding that, if nothing else, that was a start.

Being sure that she was at his side, being certain that she would always be there to smile at him...

The hole in his chest didn't seem so big. It was indescribable—sometimes, he felt he was more hole than man. But the thought that he would have her there, someone who knew, someone to lean on at his worst moments...a fractional ring felt like it filled back in at the edges.

Nothing could mend that hole right away. Maybe nothing ever would.

But he needed a promise to keep his.

She thought for a long moment, and then she reached for him, curling her fingers in his thick, fluffy hair, pulling him to her, and she met his lips softly. “I promise I'll always be here for you,” she murmured against his lips.

The edges of the gap deep in his heart shored up, only a fraction, but it didn't feel like an empty thing trying to fill another empty thing. It felt like a block, keeping the gap from getting bigger. He paused, and leaned in to her, kissing her back, and he felt her smile against his lips. She made him feel not so alone. Here she was, bruised and barely able to breathe, curled up, in pain beyond measure, but she was comforting him. She was broken in her own way.

But maybe their broken pieces fit together. He pulled back enough to speak, clutching her to him gently, “I promise I'll stay.”

She sighed, and he heard the relief in it, could almost feel it in the air, and her lips were on his again. “Thank you,” she breathed, kissing him softly, but he felt her weakness. He felt her beginning to break and give in to the pain. “I think...I think you're gonna have to get them,” she admitted, at last.

He stood, but stooped to press his lips to her forehead. “I'll be right back. Try to stay awake, until they say if you can sleep.”

She hummed, and he draped the shirt back over her, but he vanished a moment later, his heart beating out of his chest.

His love was hurt.

But she made him a promise. She would stay.

She wouldn't leave him.

He wouldn't let her.

He'd keep her.

Forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you lot enjoyed that. I'm always happy to get constructive criticism and such, and I firmly believe that one can always improve one's writing, so...suggest away, if you have things you think I could do better! Or even if you just want to point out specific things you liked—it helps to know what tickles my readers. :3
> 
> I have a lot of stories that I'll be periodically moving over from Tumblr, as I have the time, so expect to see more of this. Most of the rest of them are requests.


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